


'cause it's easier (to bury my head in the sand sometimes)

by stardustandhome



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Non-Explicit Sex, christmas is involved but probably not a christmas fic, darcy is trying his best, featuring quotes from the 2005 movie that kept finding their way in by accident, jane is the perfect older sister, lizzie is Going Through It, lizzie is in denial tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandhome/pseuds/stardustandhome
Summary: To her chagrin, Darcy wastes no time to come back with: “You think I’m hot?”The car feels suddenly claustrophobic. “You’re infuriating, is what I think.”“For the record,” he adds with an edge she can’t quite decipher, “I think you’re very attractive as well.”The first time you have sex with a man you're supposed to hate, you could probably call it an accident. After the second, you might still argue that it's not something you plan to make a habit of. But Lizzie's running out of excuses, at this point.And sure. Maybe she's okay with that. She's not great at relationships anyway, and this means nothing, right?
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, past Elizabeth Bennet/George Wickham
Comments: 18
Kudos: 299





	'cause it's easier (to bury my head in the sand sometimes)

**Author's Note:**

> song title taken from bastille's "snakes"
> 
> all my love to [alex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchyseaweed/pseuds/crunchyseaweed) for always being my first reader. she writes rlly good reddie if that floats your boat!
> 
> i have been obsessed with elizabeth and darcy for at least a good third of my life, so it's a wonder that it's taken me this long to write them. ms austen truly went off!
> 
> in any case, please enjoy!

If Lizzie knew in advance how this night would end, she would’ve probably planned to wear something nicer. At the very least, she might’ve chosen matching underwear.

It’s Jane’s fault, really. “It’ll just be a simple, easy get-together,” Jane told her. “Don’t trouble yourself at all, please, and don’t bother bringing anything. I’m sure everyone else will be coming down from work too, and I’m just so excited to see you.”

Like a fool, Lizzie believes Jane, which is how she ends up arriving at Charles Bingley and Jane’s new apartment looking entirely abysmal and underprepared for a housewarming party. and decidedly underdressed for the amount of effort that her sister put into decorating and planning the “simple get-together”. Even then, however, this probably wouldn’t be much of an issue if William Darcy wasn’t in attendance.

In hindsight, Lizzie should’ve guessed. She _is_ aware, after all, that Darcy and Charles have known each other from their schooling days, and Darcy is ostensibly Charles’ best friend (although how Charles ended up with such an unfortunate mate is completely beyond Lizzie). She just thought that Jane might be capable of holding even the slightest ghost of a grudge, given Will’s hand in the exceedingly tragic Jane-Charles break that had momentarily shattered poor Jane’s heart. Only a month before, Lizzie was busy with daily video conferences, consoling her Jane over Charles supposedly wanting to leave her. Their reunion was far from inevitable. After that whole fiasco, Lizzie decided that Will Darcy was dead to her. Apparently, though, the actual victim of his crime hadn’t gotten the memo. A real angel, Jane is.

In spite of everything else, it’s a good consolation that Charles agrees with her on that point, anyway. The truth was, Lizzie wanted to hate him for what he did to Jane. Darcy’s influence or not, it ultimately was Charles’ choice to break things off. But Charles, for the most part, seems to have been cut from the same cloth as Jane, which means that he has that same guileless air about him, which makes any significant amount of loathing unsustainable.

It also helps that Charles looks about as threatening as a puppy, and when he opens the door to let her into the apartment, he’s genuinely elated to see her.

“Lizzie!” he exclaims. “Jane’s been waiting for you.”

His cheeks are flushed, and the plastic champagne cup in his hand gives her a pretty good indication of why. Lizzie draws him close in a quick hug.

“I’d have gotten here earlier if I could, but I got held up at work,” she says apologetically. She scans the room behind Charles, but the small flat has turned into a crowded space of Jane and Charles’ friends and colleagues. “Where is Jane?”

“Just in the kitchen with the food. By the way, I don’t suppose that you saw Will on the way up? He told me that he’s almost here, but he’s determined to be the last one here, it appears!”

Lizzie fights the urge to roll her eyes, deciding that Charles wouldn’t exactly understand her position on things, particularly when that thing is Will Darcy. It’s not that she expects him to drop his best friend of some ten years, but…grovelling, or something. And not to bring Darcy to their couple-hosted parties maybe. But it’s not really her place to talk about this with Charles, so she looks apologetic as she tells him that she was alone when she came up, and goes into the kitchen to find Jane.

As Lizzie moves through the flat, she notes the holiday decorations that have already started to go up, even though it’s barely November. If Jane inherited nothing else from their mother, she definitely took Mrs Bennet’s love for festivities.

Jane is, as reported, in the kitchen, fluttering around the hors d’oeuvres like a food-themed fairy. She stills as Lizzie approaches. “Lizzie! You’re here! I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you in forever”

Lizzie laughs, nicking a mini quiche off Jane’s tray. “We saw each other last week. We spoke this morning!”

“And that’s already too long,” Jane tells Lizzie, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Am I so wrong for missing you when you moved back home just two weeks ago?”

“No,” Lizzie concedes, as they pull away. Smiling, she adds, “A tad clingy, though, maybe.”

Jane shoots her a look that must ostensibly be one of berating, but the frown fails to really stick to Jane’s delicate features.

“It’s not good to be alone during the holidays!” she protests. “And since you haven’t really _looked_ at anyone since, well, you-know-who… I thought…”

“You’re allowed to say ex-boyfriend, you know,” Lizzie says. “And it’s _fine_ , I promise. It was only six months ago, and I can take minute to myself now and focus on my career for the moment.”

“So says every Hallmark movie protagonist…” Jane teases.

“Oh, be serious!” Lizzie rolls her eyes, hitting Jane lightly on the shoulder. “Anyway, I heard that you invited Will Darcy?”

“Well, you can’t really expect Charles not to invite him. Besides, he comes over for dinner now and then.”

Lizzie frowns now. “I didn’t know about that.” It does occur to her that simply because she’s been in a different time zone for past six months, it doesn’t mean that everyone else has been on pause in her absence. So, she’s just about to lay the matter to rest, if not for the nagging question at the back of her mind. “But _why_?”

“He’s really not that bad, Lizzie. You should give him a chance. Have dinner with us! Don’t you remember that when we all met the first time, you told me that you thought he was like, super hot?”

Lizzie tries not to blush, as the memory of their first meeting rises to the surface of her mind against her permission. As it happens, she _still_ thinks that Darcy is super hot, but he’s also turned himself into the enemy. “I also thought he was unbelievably rude and standoffish. And anyways, that’s beside the point. He tried to separate you and Charles!”

“He thought he was protecting his best friend. If anything, it’s nice to know that Charlie has someone so fiercely loyal in his corner.”

Lizzie’s trying to think of a retort, something along the lines of _but he’s such a jackass_ or _you and Charles deserve better friends_ but Jane’s already pushing her out of the kitchen to mingle. As it turns out, Jane’s unflagging optimism in the goodness of mankind remains triumphant over Lizzie’s more cynical tendencies. Leaving the safety of her sister’s presence, Lizzie feels lost for a moment at the prospect of being around Jane’s friends, especially having been away. Finding no one she knows, she makes a beeline back to Charles, hoping that he might be able to give her an idea of who to talk to.

Charles is about the same place that Lizzie left him, just behind the door. There’s a small group of partygoers encircling him as he’s regaling them with some story from work. As she’s getting close to him, the bell rings. She figures he’s busy, and as sister of the host it’s probably not too much of an overstep to help out by receiving a guest.

Lizzie fills with immediate regret when it happens that the guest on the other side of the door turns out to be none other than Will Darcy.

“Elizabeth,” he says, looking somewhat surprised. “Charles mentioned that you’d returned. You’re looking lovely this evening.”

She knows for a fact that she doesn’t. Dressed in a sensible sweater and a long skirt, Lizzie’s aware that she’s probably a dead ringer for Anne Hathaway in _The Devil Wears Prada_ , but only in that first interview with Meryl Streep, way _before_ the magical makeover. Although of course it’s _fine_ , she’s not here to impress anyone anyway.

“Darcy. I thought that disguise of every sort was your abhorrence. It’s fine not to comment, you know.”

His face is unmoving. “That compliment was not disguise.”

Lizzie decides not to read into that statement, and gestures behind her instead. “Charles is over there, but he seems to be occupied.” If Lizzie were a better person, she might not admit the fledging ember of glee that comes to life at witnessing Darcy’s obvious discomfort, at that thought that he might have to _socialise_ with Charles’ friends at a _party_.

“If it’s all right, I’d prefer to stay with you for now.”

In a usual situation, it would certainly not be _all right_. But Lizzie’s tired from a day of work, and not quite up to the task of integrating herself into the groups and conversations of strangers (since when did Jane have so many friends she didn’t know about?). “Just for now,” she acquiesces. She wouldn’t quite call it a smile, but it’s definitely relief that passes through Darcy’s features when she agrees.

Lizzie takes a moment to take Darcy in as he steps through the threshold. _You thought he was like, super hot_ rings through her head in Jane’s singsong voice. She wishes it were deniable, but the tragic fact of the matter was that had they met under different circumstances, she would’ve been devastatingly attracted to him. Had they met in a club she might’ve even risked him being an axe murderer to follow him home for the night. It’s a real shame that he chose to waste his good looks on such a sour personality.

Incidentally, Darcy is a perfect gentleman (although apparently not when it really matters), so naturally he has a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine to bring to Jane in the kitchen, which is where Lizzie leads him.

Jane stops her fussing as Lizzie walks back in. “Lizzie, I thought I sent you out to– oh! Hi, Will, I’m so glad you made it.”

It’s a small horror to watch her sister give _Darcy_ a hug of greeting, going so far as to kiss him on the cheek. Sure, Jane is no stranger to physical affection, but the ease with which Darcy accepts it suggests that perhaps the two of them have grown much closer than Lizzie would’ve thought. It’s a slightly larger horror to think about the way she’s fixating on the way his broad frame dwarfs her sister, and she can just about picture being the one in his embrace instead.

Lizzie tries to ignore the hopeful thumbs up that Jane shoots her as she shuffles out with Darcy in tow. _This night means_ nothing. Instead, she grabs a glass of wine. She won’t survive otherwise.

“How were your six months away?” Darcy asks, once they’re settled in some corner of the living room.

“Good,” she says, mildly startled by the fact that Darcy has such a handle on her whereabouts. She has to look up to meet his eyes. They’re a warmer, prettier brown than she remembers, framed by long, thick eyelashes he definitely doesn’t deserve. It’s a real sin, the way the worst people get the best features. “I mean, just getting the overseas assignment was huge for me. It was a really difficult transition at first, but I think I settled in all right.”

He nods. “I think transition can be quite all right, actually. I do a lot of travel, myself, for work. Perhaps I could do without the unfamiliar faces.”

Lizzie’s more involved in nursing her drink than putting too much stock into polite conversation, but Darcy’s reply catches her off guard. Truth be told, she’d probably give a different person the benefit of the doubt here, but she’s still hurting from the time she left, and anyway, something about his tone rubs her in the perfectly wrong way.

“Sure. We don’t all have the resources to jet set like the one percent does, though,” she snaps back.

“Oh! Elizabeth, that’s not what I—”

She cuts him off, already stepping away. This is about as much of him that she’s quite prepared to withstand tonight. “That’s fine, Darcy. Please excuse me.”

Lizzie’s capable of being a delight when she so chooses, so it doesn’t take too much time for her to integrate herself into a group of Jane’s friends from work. The people are nice enough, and they make a good barrier through the evening to keep Darcy at a distance. She sees him linger around the room, catching her gaze too often for it to be a coincidence. Lizzie turns away immediately.

* * *

Just past eleven, Lizzie says her goodbyes to Jane and Charles, and quietly slips out of the party. Jane’s brought her all the way to the door when Lizzie gets an unfortunate notification.

“Damn it. My driver just cancelled. And it looks like there’s no one else in the area.”

“On the bright side, at least you haven’t gone downstairs. If you wait it out here, I’m sure someone else will come by soon!” Jane says.

Lizzie’s not as confident as Jane seems to be, given the general holiday rush. Still, she smiles, albeit tiredly, and lets her sister corral her back into the throng. Worse comes to worst, she figures, Jane would, without question, let her take the couch for the night.

They make it too steps before Darcy cuts in front of them. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. I was actually planning to head out, and would be happy to give you a lift, Elizabeth.”

“That would be great, Darcy!” Jane says, before Lizzie has a chance to reply.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out like that,” Lizzie says. “I’m sure another driver will swing by soon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, and please don’t stand on ceremony. I have a car and you need a ride. The seat’s there if you want it.”

There’s no universe where Lizzie would willingly be alone with Darcy again, especially now that the wine’s whittled down her defences, and it’s harder to keep her anger when he’s doing her a favour. It’s just that the blank map on her phone is assuring her that her other choice is an indefinite wait, and she can’t wait to climb into bed with a hot chocolate, in her new pyjamas,

And it’s just one car ride, anyway. This means _nothing_.

So okay. Maybe there’s one universe, then.

“If you insist.”

* * *

Darcy’s car is surprisingly more understated than Lizzie would’ve assumed. Not that she can really tell car breeds apart, but he doesn’t drive some ostentatious sports car, which she decides is a small point in his favour (not that that means anything).

Another mark in the positive column is that he’s blessedly chosen not to make awkward conversation, and they fall into a shockingly comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional cool-voiced interjections of Darcy’s map assistant.

Lizzie’s phone buzzes in her hand.

**[Instagram]**

_@wickhamlyhandsome has posted a picture_

Against her better judgement, she rushes to unlock her phone. She regrets it almost immediately.

Almost like it’s mocking her, there’s a picture of her ex-boyfriend, hugging some girl she’s never seen before. In place of a caption, there’s just a single red heart. The new girl is flawless, as is only right when it’s your ex’s new partner. Lizzie can’t even bring herself to feel jealous, because she knows she deserves it.

If anything, it feels cruel, that he’s moved on so quickly, given what he yelled at her when they broke up. But it looks like George was right all along. She wasn’t lovable and she was lucky he’d stuck around as long as he did. And that’s why she’s alone at Christmas and he’s dating some gorgeous model. Suddenly her hot chocolate plans feel a lot colder.

“Are you all right there?”

She locks her phone, turning to look at Darcy. Ever the responsible driver, he’s still fixed on the road, but his body leans towards hers in concern. “We’re almost to yours,” he says, “if you’re worried that I’m leading you off-route.”

Sure enough, Lizzie realises they’re less than a block away. In any case, she has no intention of sharing her life with Will Darcy, of all people. She goes for disaffected civility instead. She grins, perhaps a little too widely. “It’s fine. Thank you, Darcy.”

He brings the car to a smooth halt.

“Thanks again for the ride, Darcy.”

She moves to open the car door, but he lays a light hand on her shoulder. “If you’re not in a rush, I’d love to have a word.”

“Oh,” she says, leaning back. Lizzie’s not particularly inclined to stay but it _feels_ like it’d be a social faux pax to just walk out (even if he’s an asshole). And fine, maybe she’s a little curious. “Um, okay.”

Framed by the moonlight, his angular profile is carved out clearly in his silhouette. It’s a regal-looking face, the kind one would imagine a king to have (although to Darcy’s benefit, he’s probably better off, given the lack of inbreeding). He’s not necessarily attractive in the traditional sense, even if Lizzie is still loath to admit that _she_ thinks he’s hot. It’s really just too bad that he chooses to waste all that on bad manners.

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he says. “By which I really mean, you don’t like me very much, do you?”

“You’re joking, right?” she almost balks. “Look, I appreciate the ride and everything, but you’ve been nothing but rude since we met, and, oh! You separated Charles from my sister because you thought she wasn’t good enough for him!”

“Technically, I thought your _family_ wasn’t good enough for him. Jane I have no issues with.”

There’s a level to this that’s almost funny. Maybe Lizzie will find it later when she thinks back on the night, but in the moment all she feels is her rising anger.

“And those are what, the words of a gentleman?”

“Well, I’ve never described myself that way, really.”

“Please. You think that just because you’re hot and rich and successful that you can just dictate the lives of your underlings like it means nothing? I can’t believe you would suggest we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot as if our introductions were the only thing that went wrong. Although as far as I’m concerned, the minute between the first time I set eyes on you and when you opened your mouth was the only time I’ve ever found you a truly bearable person.”

To her chagrin, Darcy wastes no time to come back with: “You think I’m hot?”

The car feels suddenly claustrophobic. “You’re infuriating, is what I think.”

“For the record,” he adds with an edge she can’t quite decipher, “I think you’re very attractive as well.”

He’s leaning in towards her, far enough that it doesn’t have to mean anything, but close enough that it could if she wanted. Lizzie’s mind works in overdrive, taking in the lines of Darcy’s face, the thick scent of his cologne, the heat creeping all over her body. The sorry reminder of the phone she’s clutching tightly in her hand doesn’t help the rational faculties of her brain. _It’s not good to be alone_ , Jane said to her.

“You’re unbelievable.”

It’s ridiculous, really. It’s illogical and foolish. Her eyes dart down to Darcy’s lips before she’s even aware of what’s happening.

“And you’re determined to see the worst in people you barely know,” he says, tone challenging. His hair has fallen out of its gel hold, and locks of his fringe drop down to cover his face. She’s fighting the urge to brush it back.

Lizzie already hates herself for thinking about what she’s about to do next, but she figures she’ll hate herself whether it’s because she’s alone when George’s moved on, or whether she’s waking up to Charles’ asshole best friend. There are _worse_ people she could pick. Probably.

She shifts her body for a better angle, and kisses Darcy. He doesn’t seem caught off guard for even a moment, meeting her enthusiasm with equal vigour.

As she holds him, it’s as though she’s been shot with an extra dose of adrenaline. Her body feels suddenly hyperaware of her surroundings, the haze of the wine completely washed away by Darcy’s sure grip. The warmth from the car’s heater blowing from the dashboard, the lights of the streetlamps standing just outside the safety of their little bubble. She feels every point of contact between them— his mouth against hers, his hand upon her jaw, hers clinging to the back of his neck.

The way they move is fast and frantic. He catches her lip between his own, pressing his tongue into her mouth. He works at her insistently, she guides him to explore her body, touching, pulling, pushing.

It’s only when Lizzie feels Darcy’s hand sneaking under her sweater that she pulls away from him.

The light is too dark for details, but the look of longing on his face is plain to see. She suspects there’s a matching one on hers.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

There’s less regret in the morning that Lizzie would’ve thought. The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is Darcy sleeping soundly in her bed, right beside her. For everything they did the night before, they’ve slept at opposite ends of the mattress. They’re not touching, but they’re pressed together by the small space, and Lizzie can feel the heat that comes off him.

Asleep, he is robbed of his usual expressiveness: the smug look, the haughty air, the longing of the night before. The calm feels almost obscene on him.

Even then, even with thoughts as those, there’s a part of her that wants to move in closer, to lay her head on his chest, and let the rhythmic pattern of his breathing lull her back to unconsciousness. Lizzie resolves that _that_ is merely a side effect of being single and seeing her ex-boyfriend move on and puts it away in her mind.

She slips out of the bed slowly, hoping not to wake Darcy up. Her next mission is dressing, pulling on clean clothes from her wardrobe. She’s not sure what Darcy might want, but she picks up his clothes to lay at the foot of the bed.

Before she decides against it, Lizzie breaks out the kitchenware to make food for the both of them, feeling thankful that she chose to make a trip to the grocery store just a couple of days ago. She reasons that since _she_ ’s hungry, it would be weirder to send him home without food, as if she’d done it intentionally to send a message.

So this isn’t weird, and she’s not overthinking this.

Lizzie’s starting to plate breakfast when Darcy peeks out of her doorway, fully dressed in his now-wrinkled business casual attire from the party. He’s fussing with his rumpled hair as he walks out of her room.

“You look…decidedly out of your element,” Lizzie tells him, before she’s quite done processing her own thought.

Darcy’s brow furrows in amusement. “Should I tell you that you look _decidedly_ in yours?”

She considers her hair that hasn’t seen a brush yet, the oversized shirt she’s wearing with the neck stretched out, her lack of pants, and wonders if she’s supposed to be insulted. But she’s making an effort not to get combative so early in the morning. “You seemed to like my element last night, though.”

“I did,” he simply says, smiling. “I liked it a lot.”

“I made breakfast. If you eat that sort of thing in your busy rich person life.” She frowns. “I don’t actually know what you do, come to think of it.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mention it too often. I’d be surprised if Jane had a proper understanding of it, really.”

“But you _are_ rich.”

“My family is,” he says. Seeming to pre-empt her response, though, he continues. “I know how that sounds, and I’m not saying that I haven’t benefitted from the Darcy name or fortune, but I do try to make a positive difference in this world. Recently I’ve been doing most of my work with the Anne Darcy Foundation.”

In the earlier days of her vendetta against Darcy, Lizzie _had_ thought to search him up, so she had an idea of his family’s foundation, named for his deceased mother. And begrudgingly, she would admit that she’d long been impressed with their work. Between that, and well, the sex, perhaps some sort of olive branch is in order. Any person truly a part of working for the benefit of others couldn’t be as truly awful as she’s thought Darcy to be.

She takes a moment, thinking through her sparse interactions with him. It’s possible she’s been less courteous than she could’ve done. “I think you might have had a point last night. About what you were saying in the car,” she says.

“You’re admitting that I’m right about something? Seems out of character.”

Lizzie sighs. “You’re not making this any easier, you know. What I meant to say is that I think we _have_ gotten off on the wrong foot. I stand by my assessment that your actions in the Jane-Charles debacle were unwarranted, and that you haven’t been that nice to me, but I could be persuaded otherwise.”

He snorts. “How generous of you.”

“Do you disagree?”

“Since getting to know Jane over the past few months, I agree that my _advice_ was unfortunate, but not regrettable. Charles is uncommonly kind and trusting, and it was entirely fair of me to believe that they were moving too quickly. I’ve seen him get hurt before, and I wasn’t about to let him go down that path again. Besides,” he adds, “the other side to all of this is that you’ve been determined to understand the worst in me at every opportunity. Do _you_ disagree?”

She stabs at her eggs with a fork, determined to keep her cool. “The way you wanted to protect Charles, that’s how I feel about Jane. She’s hardly so openly emotional around me, but from my perspective it was clear how much she loves Charles. And I thought you might’ve found fault with the fact we’re not exactly, well, a part of your world.”

“I’m sorry for the hurt I put them through,” Darcy says, as Lizzie watches him carefully in the way he considers their conversation. “And I hope that we’re able to move on from this.”

Sometime between the party and this morning, Lizzie finds that the prospect of spending more time in Darcy’s vicinity has grown far less heinous. Maybe, with enough alcohol in her, she could even come to almost enjoy his company.

“I suppose it’s in my favour to be on good terms with a man who’s seen me naked,” Lizzie teases, grinning as his cheeks colour. “That said,” she adds on, “I hope you’re not expecting a repeat of last night. I’m not usually this sort of girl, and I’d prefer not to make a habit of it.”

“I’m guessing that you’d also like if we kept this between ourselves?”

“Just look at that, Will Darcy. We’re coming to agreements already.”

* * *

It takes them exactly two weeks before they crack. More specifically, _Lizzie_ cracks.

She wants to blame her mother’s incessant questioning during Thanksgiving about Lizzie’s piss poor excuse for a dating life.

Plus, the fact that she’s home early from a bad date with a shitty finance guy who couldn’t shut up about his mentor.

And maybe it’s the text that comes in from George Wickham right after, just twisting the knife in the way she’s missed her one good chance at a good man who’d tolerate her.

**[From: George]**

Hi lizzie. heard that you were back in town, wondered if you’d like to reconnect. let me know what dates work for you, and we can work around that

She stares at her phone, at his message, hearing his voice echo in her head. _You’re so lucky to have me, you’re no good at being in love, if not for me you’d break all your relationships._ _Good luck finding someone else to love you if you leave_.

The tears are falling before she can stop herself. If there’s one thing she truly hates, it’s feeling powerless and useless like this.

Elizabeth Bennet is a strong, self-assured woman. She can _totally_ do better than this. Even if ‘better’ is just wanting to feel a little less alone for the night, sending out booty calls to a man she probably wouldn’t if she’d had one less glass of wine.

She’ll even admit it. It doesn’t _hurt_ her ego to see the message that pops in shortly after.

**[From: Darcy]**

I’ll be there soon.

She’s a little less ready to admit how excited she is, though.

When he arrives, not a moment too soon, she’s ready to pull him to her bedroom. Lizzie’s already on her tiptoes to kiss him, hands fixed on removing his coat. So she’s not really expecting him to pull away and say: “You sounded distressed. Would you like to talk?”

For one thing, she can’t remember a time in her last relationship with George when he would’ve stopped her to ask about how she was. For another, it still feels shocking that Darcy would be all that interested.

“No,” she says finally. “I appreciate you asking, though. And I know what I said the last time, about not making this a habit but I…” She trails off, realising suddenly that she doesn’t quite have an explanation for what she wants. As far as she can figure, the previous night was comforting in a way she hasn’t had in a hot minute, and maybe she’d like it again. She’d found herself lacking in relationships, but this didn’t have to be one. It didn’t have to be anything at all.

He stares at her, silently, body completely still. Lizzie’s about to backpedal and usher him back out the door when he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, stepping forward to close the gap between them.

He smells like expensive cologne and clean soap. She breathes him in more. His stubble scratches against her face, she pulls him in closer. Darcy’s hands ghost across the surface of her body, skimming over the hem of her blouse, fingers featherlight on the bare skin he uncovers. She shivers under his touch.

They break apart, just briefly, so that he can lift her top over her head. He’s looking at her like she’s something delicate to be handled with care. _But this means nothing._

She doesn’t need more than that tonight. _Nothing_ is safe. She can do _nothing_.

“Touch me,” Lizzie tells him, so he does.

They stop talking about habits, or the lack thereof, after that. It’s a development Lizzie realises she’s maybe more than okay with. She could do worse, after all. She asserts that she’s in no place for a relationship, and Darcy assents easily, to her relief.

Which is why it all still means nothing, of course. But even then, she’s starting to think that if anything, she should count herself lucky.

* * *

Meeting Darcy becomes an almost daily occurrence, breaking only when they have plans with either Jane or Charles. Lizzie likes to go over to his, because his mattress is bigger and softer, and it’s easier to leave when it’s not her house to leave from. She sees the way his hands reach over to her side of the bed (not that she _has_ a side) as she’s throwing her clothes back on and almost feels bad when she turns down his offers to stay a little longer.

Still, for all Lizzie knows of Darcy, or _thought_ she knew, he was stiff and over-serious. These days, she’s learning all kinds of things about him.

He moves slow because he moves surely, every action a perfect calculation. At times it is agonising, his mouth trailing kisses down her body at a glacial pace, but every point of contact left searing.

He’s a good teacher, patient to guide her hands, her lips, even her eyes. Thankfully, Lizzie finds herself eager to know more.

He’s an even better student, desperate to pull her in and set her alight. His eyes are ever alert, pulling out curses and moans and storing the information away for later use, to surprise her when she’s least expecting it.

She would never have thought it, but Darcy is a decent conversationalist. Any moment they’re not together (moments which are growing increasingly scarce), her fingers itch to text him.

**[To: Darcy]**

sometimes I think I’m going to wake up and find out that you were she’s all that-ing me all along

**[From: Darcy]**

Somehow I suspect that you would be Freddie Prinze Jr. in this situation.

**[To: Darcy]**

I might be more than mildly surprised you understood that

**[From: Darcy]**

Gigi would never let me go to sleep unless I watched movies with her. And she vetoed all my choices.

**[To: Darcy]**

I’m dying to leak this to the press

**[From: Darcy]**

I expect compensation for my contribution. You can pass me a cheque the next time we meet.

**[To: Darcy]**

what do you think the sex was for?

**[From: Darcy]**

And here I thought we were friends. You wound me, Elizabeth.

**[To: Darcy]**

how can I make it up? would hate to lose my best source

**[From: Darcy]**

You could start with letting me buy you breakfast in the morning.

The clock on her phone tells her it’s 3AM. She tells herself that’s why she’s not replying. That it’s so that she can go to sleep. She almost believes it.

* * *

She wakes up to an unexpected message.

**[From: Darcy]**

Requesting your urgent assistance. Please call me when you see this.

That’s how, a shower and a trip to the shops later, Lizzie ends up browsing gifts with Darcy.

“I don’t understand how I could be helpful in this situation,” she says, looking through a counter of jewellery far out of her own paygrade. “She’s your sister and I’ve never even met her.”

He shrugs, and she spends a moment too long observing the fluid movement of his broad shoulders. “You can meet her when she comes back for Christmas, if you’d like. But really, I thought I’d put Gigi out of her misery by getting some advice from a woman.”

She turns her head back to the counter sharply, suddenly extremely interested. “Doesn’t Charles have a sister, for that matter?”

“Yes. But, well, the less time I spend around Caroline Bingley, the better.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“I’m a rather shit storyteller, unfortunately. Suffice it to say that Caroline’s long harboured, uh, designs on me, and it’s never really worked out that way. Besides,” he says, brightening, “I thought it might be nice for us to spend some time together.”

Lizzie wants to say that they’ve been spending a lot of time together but talking about whatever they are in the public of daylight feels suddenly obscene. There’s also a hint of something in his voice that she can’t quite place but doesn’t feel equipped to tackle today. She crosses her arms, shifting her weight backwards. “Darcy...”

Perhaps for both their benefits, he looks alarmed. “As friends, I mean. That’s part of… whatever we are, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t really remember when their terms stipulated _friends_ , so much as it sought to define the benefits portion of the phrase. Then again, thinking about Darcy conjures up more memories of their more physical activities, rather than any time spent discussing specific boundaries. Outside of ‘don’t tell anyone’, her mind comes up surprisingly blank. In any case, she also figures that given the seriousness of Jane and Charles’ relationship, there’s probably a lot more of Darcy in her future. And there’s no way a guy so desperate to make his little sister happy could be all that bad. _To befriend_.

“Of course. So why don’t you tell me more about Gigi’s hobbies?”

Darcy’s arm brushes past her as he crosses behind her, and she’s desperately telling herself that she’s just cold.

“Music. She plays the piano.”

Lizzie’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “Right. So you thought a pretty necklace would interest her.”

His face is blank. “Women… _like_ jewellery.”

“An overgeneralisation and you know it,” she says, pulling him by the wrist out of the store, telling herself that it’s just the most efficient way to get him to move.

“She’s asked me to play a duet with her,” he muses, when they’re back in his car. “I don’t know how to play the piano, though.”

“It’s not too hard. My mother had us all take lessons when we were young,” Lizzie says. The next words are out before she’s had time to dwell on them. “I could teach you.”

By the time she’s realised the ramifications of what she’s done, there’s an adorably hopeful look on Darcy’s face, and it’s already to back out.

Besides, friends would _totally_ offer to help out like this.

So this means nothing, too.

* * *

“You’re actually a pretty quick study,” Lizzie says, watching Darcy’s fingers move over the keys.

He smiles. “Just as a pianist?”

“Perfect as a pianist. In other areas, maybe you could use notes.”

The room falls silent when he turns on her, met only with her shit-eating grin. “You’re infuriating,” he says after a moment, returning to the music. His gaze is set onto the sheet music, focused like he’s figuring out a puzzle. It softens her to think about the effort he’s putting into trying to make his sister happy, and she realises she’s probably been reading him wrong this entire time.

Lizzie feels like there’s a reply, all the way from the first night they were together, left unsaid. _I think you’re attractive as well_.

He said it like it was a challenge, then, but the way she’d say it now is just as fact. Beyond his chiselled features it’s also in knowing him, his character, that personality she once thought she hated.

It doesn’t even matter, since there’s no way Darcy thinks of her in any way. And even if he did, she’s only good for ruining what little good they have between them.

* * *

“What do you think about having Will over on Christmas?”

It takes Lizzie all she has not to choke on her water at Jane’s question. For one thing, they’re in a fairly nice restaurant for brunch and it wouldn’t be the polite thing to do. For another, and more importantly, as far as her sister is aware, she hasn’t seen Darcy since the party. As far as Jane is aware, she certainly hasn’t been with Darcy every other day, either at the piano, in bed, or some other part of his flat.

That’s why Lizzie makes sure to act as casually as possible.

“Why on earth would we invite him?”

Jane laughs. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? I thought you’ve been spending time together.” Lizzie stiffens in her seat, until her sister continues, “Charles said that you’ve been teaching Darcy how to play the piano. I just knew if you gave him a chance that the two of you would get along! You’re a lot more alike than you think.”

“But he’s…” Lizzie says, faltering at Jane’s expectant face. “He’s so…he’s so rich.”

“Oh, the poor man can’t help that,” Jane replies, amused. Lizzie bites her lip, mildly disturbed that she couldn’t find a fault to pin on Darcy. From the night of the party, she might’ve denounced him as stuck up, but it’s a characteristic she now knows to be untrue. Maybe now she’d call him stubborn, or even severe, but those were beginning to be things she almost lo– she _liked_ about him.

Fortunately, Jane seems not to have recognised Lizzie’s silence as agonising over Darcy’s worse traits. “He’s really not _so_ bad, right? He sent you home from my party that time.”

 _And look what that led to_ , Lizzie thinks. But Jane doesn’t know about that, so she just smiles instead. “I’ll survive one night.”

* * *

When Charlotte later asks why Lizzie left the office with Will Darcy in tow, Lizzie will tell her that it’s perfectly normal for friends to take a walk in the park together because his parents never had the time to take him, before grabbing dinner at his place as they head there for the piano.

When Charlotte probes further, Lizzie will make an excuse.

Before she has to deal with that, though, she’ll take her damn walk in the park.

“You live so close by, I can’t believe you never came here,” Lizzie says.

“I’m usually pretty busy. And I’ve never found a reason to come by.”

“The fresh air! The scenery! The exercise!” she protests. “I’ve always been fond of walking.”

Darcy smiles. “Yes, yes I know.”

His hand brushes her as they’re walking. She doesn’t pull away

“Did Jane ask you to the Bennet household for Christmas?”

“She did. I’ll have to ask Gigi if she has any friends in the city, though. Usually, it’s just the two of us for the holidays.” He looks thoughtfully. “But I would like to be there.”

Lizzie nods. “I’d like you to be there. Even if I’ll tell Jane that I can’t stand you first,” she laughs.

“Is there a reason we haven’t told anyone, even now?” His tone is light, but there’s an unmistakable air of uncertainty that she catches anyway.

She’s pretty sure she knows that answer. It’s safer for the both of them if there’s nothing really happening, and it’s easier for nothing to happen if nobody’s allowed to know. Somehow she doesn’t think her explanation would go over all that well with Darcy, even if she’s pretty sure her logic is airtight.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? To keep things just between us,” she offers. He doesn’t look like he believes her, but he nods anyway. Soured, the conversation stills until Darcy pipes up again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re definitely allowed to _ask_.”

“Right. You know, now that we’ve been…meeting up for a few weeks, am I allowed to ask why you were crying that night?” Lizzie almost skips a step to fall behind Darcy, wondering of the angle to take with him, to deny or to hedge. “And I’m begging you not to play dumb because I can tell from the look on your face that you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Her cheeks burn at the thought of being caught even before she’d even tried to say a word, and it’s worse that he’s right. She sighs. “It was my ex. Well, it was a few things but mostly it was about him. He ended things before I left because he didn’t like the idea of me being away for so long. It’s so stupid, honestly. It’s just that he heard I was back, and he wanted to meet up.” Lizzie wrings her hands together.

He doesn’t say anything at first, like he’s waiting for her to continue, only that she doesn’t. “That doesn’t exactly answer why you were upset, though,” he says.

“I guess it all just… still feels raw. I mean, we’d known each other from our college days and I always felt so lucky dating him.”

“What did he used to do that made you feel so lucky?” Darcy speaks calmly in a measured tone and yet every word still sounds like picking a fight.

Lizzie’s mind comes up immediately empty, but she knows that can’t be right. “He… We… He’d tell me as much. And I know it’s true. I’ve always been a little abrasive, which isn’t for everyone, but it’s something he’s been okay with. He could love me in spite of it.”

“Loving someone in spite of who they are is a terrible thing to say to someone,” he tells her softly. She knows he’s right even as he says it, but George morphs into a hill she’s willing to die on.

“That’s easy for you to say, Darcy. You don’t really know. You don’t really know _me_.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I think I know enough.” He puts his hand on her shoulder just long enough to make her stop walking. Darcy’s eyes bore into her as he speaks. “That it’s not that you’re difficult, but you’re headstrong and independent and dedicated to your beliefs. You’re a career woman, and that’s amazing. You’re impulsive. Nurturing. Kind. And you like to put up walls because you don’t want to be vulnerable. But you’re _safe_ here, I promise.”

“That doesn’t… I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me right now.”

“I think I’m saying that if you’re willing, maybe I’d like for us to be more than friends.”

 _We_ are _more than friends_ , she wants to argue, but she knows that’s not quite what he means. It suddenly strikes her – the way they’re standing, the way her hands have been quietly reaching forth for his, that damn look in his eyes, the fact she’s rarely felt so at ease around someone other than Jane and Charlotte – she’s been walking down a road she never intended to cross.

Lizzie steps back. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m not _good_ at more than friends, at relationships. I’m hard to love and I’m not good at it anyway.”

“You’re a great sister, and a great friend. And you don’t deserve to feel like you’ve ever failed at either. I just don’t think you’re who he said you are. You took a job. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Her body hurts. There’s a sharp stabbing in her chest, which is how she knows she’s about to cry, and it’s going to be bad. When she tells Darcy, “I’m going to go,” her voice is already wavering. She’s grateful for the swiftly setting sun, dimming the sky just enough to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes.

Darcy catches her arm as she’s stepping away. His grip is light, and his eyes are pleading, but it feels like tether trying to hold her in. A moment ago, there were birds in the trees and children running about, but right now all she sees is him. “You don’t have to run away.”

“I’m not running away from anything,” she argues weakly. “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.” She’s not sure if she’s talking to him or to herself.

“And I will accept it if you tell me that it still doesn’t, but I don’t think that I’m the only one,” he says firmly. “You’re not hard to love, Elizabeth. And I know that because I’m falling—”

She clamps her hand over his mouth and wrenches her arm away. “I didn’t _ask_ for that, Darcy.”

His eyes are pained. She’s _giving_ him pain. There’s a part of her aware that it would be so easy to give in. To kiss Darcy like he wants. To go home with him. To have sex with him but this time let it feel different like the air has been made anew.

But after that? After that would be made worse by her hand.

So she tells him, “I’m so sorry, Darcy.”

“You’re not giving anything a chance.”

Lizzie has started walking away by the time she replies. “ _Nothing_ doesn’t need a chance. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” It’s not lost on her how much that sounds like breaking up, but it’s just exactly why she knows she could never work.

She turns back at three times to see if Darcy is following her, but he isn’t. Once she’s sure she’s out of his line of sight, she lets herself break down. Big, dry heaves push their way out of her body, and Lizzie falls unceremoniously onto the closest bench for support. Her hands are shaking as she wipes the tears that are falling from her face. She digs the heels of her hands into the sockets of her eyes, hoping that if she presses hard enough, she can erase that last picture of Darcy.

Lizzie sees it so clearly: his lips turned down, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes broken and unmistakably glassy.

If it was anger that he felt, at least she could live with being the conduit for that. But she can’t fix sadness, not without hurting them both more in the long run.

* * *

She’s too tired even to think when she gets home. Lizzie’s hands reach for her phone.

At this point, all bets about Darcy are probably off. But talking to either Jane or Charlotte will be prefaced with a much longer conversation to even get the up to speed, which sounds like the last thing she wants to do right now.

She’d talk to Darcy. She goes to sleep instead.

* * *

Lizzie calls in sick the next morning, blaming the weather.

It’s not _quite_ her style — breaking up with George sent her headfirst into work, determined to put the noisy thoughts of him to rest with her assignments. Somehow, though, it doesn’t feel like Darcy will be so easy to put to rest.

Which is ridiculous, of course. She actually dated George, and Darcy is just…a friend. If even that, anymore.

She makes it all the way to lunch before the real world comes knocking at her self-imposed exile of self-loathing. Her phone rings, with Charlotte’s smiling face filling the screen. Lizzie debates the pros and cons of a conversation for a moment but decides to pick up.

“There’s no way you’re sick,” Charlotte says.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Lizzie replies. “How would you know, anyway?”

It occurs to her a beat too late that she’s given herself away, but she figures Charlotte would’ve probably seen through any of her excuses.

“In the twenty years I’ve known you, you’ve come down with a cold a grand total of one time. And that was because Lydia literally sneezed in your face,” Charlotte explains. “Which leads me to the question: what’s happened to you today?”

Lizzie sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“Just tell me it’s not because of George.”

If Lizzie put a finer point on it, it’s probably a little bit because of George, but she’s mature enough to admit that the wounds in this case are mostly self-inflicted.

“It’s about Will Darcy,” she says.

There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry,” Charlotte finally says. “I had to check my connection because I’m pretty sure I heard you say, ‘Will Darcy’?”

“I didn’t _not_ say him.”

There’s a longer pause. “Are you sure this conversation is safe to have over the phone? Is there a body to bury?”

Lizzie laughs, but she’s getting choked up again. “Charlotte, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Charlotte hums. “Collins is staring at me, so I need to get off the line. You’ll talk to me at the party tomorrow?”

That gives Lizzie a night and all of Christmas Eve to figure out exactly what she wants to say. “I’ll see you then. Thank you for calling. Don’t get fired.”

Charlotte just snorts. “Please. As if this place would survive without me.”

* * *

After dinner, Lizzie resolves to mix in alcohol with her pity party, which is what drives her into town. She settles for a dive bar she frequented more often as a college student, pleased to find that it’s largely been spared from the rough holiday crowds.

If she’s being honest with herself, as much as she’d like to go back to how things were just a couple days ago, the situation was probably going to come to a head eventually.

If she’s being extra honest, if it wasn’t Darcy, it would’ve been her. But she’s left at the same place, that nothing she decides would ever be fair to him. She should never have been foolish enough to kiss him the first time. She wouldn’t have hurt him that way, if they had never been anything between them.

She’s at the bar, on her third gin and tonic, stewing over her next steps when a familiar voice cuts in. “Lizzie Bennet, is that you?”

There are complicated feelings bubbling in her stomach when Lizzie turns to face her intruder. It’s George Wickham.

Lizzie downs her drink and signals the bartender for another one before she replies, smiling too widely. “Funny seeing you here.”

She lets him get close, wrapping her up in a hug. Having been warmed up by the alcohol, Lizzie feels his body shockingly cold pressed up to hers.

“You never called me back,” he says, settling into the stool next to hers. He’s grinning at her, that same winning smile she fell for before. In the months she was away, in even just the last few weeks, something about Lizzie seems like it’s changed so much. George looks exactly the same, like a memory trapped in amber.

She can almost picture it. A couple of years ago, just as they’d started to get to know each other, she brought him to this very bar, and they’d probably sat in these very stools. And now look at them.

Lizzie studies the new glass that the bartender has set in front of her. “I wasn’t sure what there is to say. Besides, I didn’t think your new girlfriend would love us hanging out again.”

George tuts. “No, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says. “And come on. You’ve always got something to say.”

She bites her lip, deciding that he probably didn’t mean that last bit badly, so she plays along. “Occupational hazard,” she offers.

“Right. The job that sent you far away.”

Lizzie frowns. “I’m back now. I told you that I was always going to come back. You’re the one who said there was no point in anything if I wanted to choose the job over you.”

“Over _us_ ,” he says sharply. “You’re trying to make this an issue between you and me again. And like I said then, it’s a problem of us and… other plans. You’re being difficult again, Lizzie.”

He laughs a little as he says it, like it’s a joke.

“I’m just saying it the way I understood it, George.” She’s holding her tongue, holding back just enough that her words don’t come out venomous.

“Calm down,” he tells her, resting a hand on her arm. “You were lucky I could always overlook shit like this. Remember when I stayed over at your place to take care of you when you thought you bombed that interview?”

Darcy’s speech from their last conversation prick at Lizzie’s mind, breaking through the fog of alcohol and the saccharine tone of George’s words.

“You mean like a boyfriend would?” she snaps. “Like something you do because you love someone?”

George raises his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t come here for a fight.”

“You seem to be finding your way to one pretty well tonight, though.”

“And yet we’re both drinking alone on Christmas Eve,” he says.

“Have you always been this charming, or am I just noticing it for the first time?”

His smile drops. “I’m not following.”

“No. Of course you aren’t,” Lizzie says, waving the bartender over so that she can settle her tab. She touches his shoulder lightly, patting twice. “Excuse me, George. It was good seeing you. Really.”

When she walks out, she turns back for a moment. George is already walking towards a young woman seated at a table by herself. It feels a bit harder to be sorry for herself tonight.

* * *

Jane Bennet never fails to be there when she’s needed, even just before Christmas and she has to temporarily kick her boyfriend out of their apartment. Lizzie swears she didn’t ask Jane to do that last bit, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate it.

By the time Lizzie reaches Jane’s apartment, Charles is nowhere to be seen, and there’s already a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table. She settles in quickly, letting Jane take her coat, fussing over her until they both make it to the sofa.

Lizzie starts with Will Darcy, and, to Jane’s benefit, she reacts only with mild surprise and encouragement.

“I just thought you didn’t like him,” Jane says.

“Jane, I’ve been so blind,” Lizzie replies. It takes her a moment to get the next words out. “I like Will Darcy. Maybe a lot. Maybe a little bit in love, even.”

She takes it from the night of the party, down to the past hour. Lizzie gets choked up talking about her fight with Darcy, and she’s blowing her nose as she waits to hear Jane’s response.

Jane leads with: “You know, I never thought George was good for you. He seemed like a… a pompous blowhard.”

Lizzie’s shocked enough that she stops crying. “Jane Bennet, that might be the meanest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I’ve never met someone who was less deserving of kindness than him.”

Lizzie laughs. “That bad, huh?”

“You were always so insistent on seeing the good in him, and I’ve never been good at convincing you to do anything,” Jane says.

“Well,” Lizzie says. “In the end, neither was he.”

“And good riddance to that!”

Lizzie sighs. “I think he was right, though,” she adds quietly. “At least a little bit.”

“You can’t mean that,” Jane says.

“But he was! I break relationships, Jane. That’s why I left George and I walked away from Darcy, and I’m no good for anyone.”

“Honey, no. Please don’t do this to yourself. You took a job, and George broke up with you because he couldn’t stand the idea of you having a life outside of him!” Jane says. She pulls Lizzie into a hug. “You’re good for so many people, Lizzie. I love you so much.”

Lizzie is years out of silly high school heartbreaks and boy-next-door issues, but Jane has been her constant throughout any problem. And it’s nice, really, that in a maelstrom of her own making, that Jane is still there to calm her storm. “I love you too.”

Jane turns serious when she lets go. “I think you know what you have to do next.”

“But I have nothing to say to Darcy,” Lizzie says. “And it’s better to hurt him now, instead of months down the road and make it all that much worse.”

“Not all relationships end badly,” Jane says disapprovingly. “ _You_ won’t end all relationships badly.”

Lizzie’s voice is small, something fragile and childlike and afraid. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t. But I know that’s no reason not to try. I don’t know how, or if, Charles and I might break up. What I do know is that I’m in love with him and it would be ridiculous to not to be with him just because of hypothetical situations,” Jane says. “It didn’t work with George because George was too busy thinking about himself to actually be in love with you. But Will’s a good man. You’re a good person. And I know you’ll do right by each other, if you give him a chance.”

“What makes you say that?”

Jane smiles. “Because when you told me about the past few weeks with him, you were grinning, Lizzie. Like it or not, he makes you _happy_. And you deserve that.”

Lizzie nods slowly. “Darcy does too.”

* * *

Lizzie has it on Charles’ good authority that Darcy still intends to visit the Bennets for Christmas, which is why she ends up getting in late. Technically speaking, Darcy has seen her many times in some less-than-polished states, but she figures that if anything, the extra hour spent on her makeup routine might make her feel more confident.

As it turns out, it doesn’t, not really.

The festivities are in full swing, even as the sun starts to dip. Mrs Bennet enjoys being the centre of attention, which is why every year she brings over Charlotte’s family and half the neighbourhood when they can spare themselves. When Lizzie is done pushing past her mother’s fussing, and she’s said her brusque but affectionate hellos to her father, she finds Darcy towards to back of the house in rapt conversation with Lydia, of all people, standing next to a short blonde. It’s kind of nice to see, because Darcy is serious and Lydia has only recently started to apply herself to her work in university. And okay, maybe it _does_ something to Lizzie to see them getting along.

He falls quiet when she approaches them.

“Hi,” Lizzie says.

“Hi,” Darcy replies. He looks _not_ unhappy to see her, but there’s a guardedness she doesn’t remember.

She feels sort of dazed, looking at him, but collects herself just enough for a semblance of propriety. “I see you’ve met Lydia.”

“And hello to you too, Lizzie,” Lydia says, pulling Lizzie’s attention.

Lizzie laughs a little, sheepishly, and hugs her sister. “I’m sorry, my dear. Merry Christmas.”

“Lizzie,” Darcy cuts in. “This is my sister—” he gestures to the blonde girl next to him — “Gigi.”

Next to her brother’s more imposing figure, Gigi looks largely unassuming. The facial features that make Darcy striking are softened on her. From what Darcy said, she’s twenty-one, a year older than Lydia, but her bare face and petite stature give the impression that she could be younger.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gigi,” Lizzie says.

Gigi smiles tentatively. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” She adds, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Lizzie doesn’t miss the panicked look that sets into Darcy’s face. “Good things, I hope,” she teases.

“Only the best,” Gigi says. “I’d love to play a duet with you, sometime. Will says you’re a great teacher.”

There’s no doubt in Lizzie’s mind that Lydia’s shocked by the assertion that she’s been spending time with Darcy, given that the last time she heard of Darcy it was accompanied with a string of expletives, regarding Jane and Charles. It’s funny, really, how so much has changed in so little time. Lydia hides it well, though the look in her eyes is begging for a longer explanation later on.

“He gives me too much credit. I hardly do anything,” Lizzie demurs. Her gaze wanders from Gigi to find Darcy’s. He’s already looking down at her. “Darcy’s basically perfect as is.”

Darcy clears his throat. “I’m sorry. Were you meaning to pull Lydia away? You looked in quite a hurry to come over here.”

“Oh!” Lizzie exclaims. “No, actually, Darcy, I was hoping that I could speak to you for a moment. Outside.”

To Lizzie’s relief, he doesn’t say anything after that, simply nodding, and lets her lead him by the arm through the party, back out to the front of the house. She catches Charlotte’s eye, as well as her mother’s, both of whom look deeply interested in her affairs. In addition to Lydia, Lizzie makes a mental note that she might have to call a press conference when this is all over.

Hoping that there’s something to _tell_ , anyway.

It’s much quieter outside, away from the other conversations and people that Lizzie barely knows. They can still hear Christmas carols blasting off Spotify, but all Lizzie can focus on is the man standing right in front of her.

There’s a _speech_ she had prepared, written in the early hours of the morning after she got home from Jane’s. Somehow, though, looking at Darcy, the words feel all too inadequate.

She’s always known he was hot, but he truly is _beautiful_. The Christmas lights on the porch reflect off his face, casting him in shades of green and red. His cheeks and nose are beginning to turn red from the cold, shedding years from him. He’s gelled his hair back, but locks from his fringe have come loose, falling over his eyes just so. And those _eyes_. Brown like hot chocolate that she’d love to drink in forever.

So she says: “Hi.”

Darcy’s brows knit, but his smile tells her it’s off amusement more than annoyance. “You said that already.”

The silence hangs for a moment, as Lizzie scrambles for what she needs to say. She knows the broad strokes clearly— _I’m sorry, I love you, please tell me I haven’t mucked it up forever_ — but the exact details are harder to get out.

Apparently, Darcy takes this as his cue. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry for the other night. Things were going well, and I shouldn’t have pushed—” He stops when Lizzie clamps her hand over his mouth.

It occurs to her a moment too late how the action trends too closely to the events of the other night, and she drops her hand quickly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” she says.

Lizzie takes a deep breath to steel herself. “You have nothing to apologise for, Darcy. I’m the one who—I shouldn’t have—that night I—” It’s ridiculous enough that she has to laugh at herself, but Darcy’s eyes are trained on hers, serious as ever, but just as warm as she knows them.

“I love you,” she tries instead. “And I’m sorry. I have been afraid that being together means that one of us is bound to hurt the other, and I thought if I ended it here that I could save us both the trouble. But I think I don’t want to be saved the trouble. I love you, and I think you love me, and if I’m not too late, I want to make this work. I want this to mean something.”

Darcy just stares at her for a moment. Lizzie thinks she’ll have to prompt him when instead he dips down to kiss her. Kissing is not new territory for them, but there’s a new energy that crackles between them tonight. He doesn’t linger long before pulling away, though he touches a hand to her face.

“I love you too, Elizabeth. Just in case that wasn’t clear. And it’s not too late. It will never be too late between us.” His voice is a little coarse and Lizzie’s not even sure that she’s capable of speaking, so she nods and pulls him back into her.

Lizzie’s not sure how long they stand there for, ignoring the cold. Darcy’s warm enough for the of both them, she decides. It’s only when the porch light starts flickering that they finally stop.

“I’d kill to walk away now and head to your place immediately,” Lizzie says, forehead still pressed against his.

“I’m Gigi’s ride,” he says.

“We’re only going back in because I like her,” she says, beginning to disentangle from him.

Her fingers trail down his arm as she takes a step away. He catches her hand. “Wait,” Darcy says. Lizzie looks back at him. “Can I buy you breakfast tomorrow?”

Lizzie feels almost delirious with joy. “You can buy me breakfast for the rest of our lives,” she tells him. “Now come on. If we have to stay here, I want to introduce everyone to my new boyfriend.”

* * *

The reactions to Lizzie’s new development range from surprise, shock, and then to barely concealed rabid excitement. The latter was courtesy of Mrs Bennet, whom Lizzie later overheard boasting to Charlotte’s mother about _two_ daughters landing successful partners. She’s been next to Darcy all night, meaning that there’s no way he didn’t hear her as well, but he wisely and admirably chooses not to respond.

Lizzie only separates from her _new boyfriend_ long enough to find Jane. Off to the side, she watches Charles congratulate Darcy.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jane says, pulling Lizzie into a hug.

* * *

They leave a little after eleven, just as the party is beginning to show signs of winding down.

“I’ll wait by the door,” Darcy says, dropping a gentle kiss to Lizzie’s temple.

She’s all too excited to make her rounds, hugging her family and Charlotte, bidding farewell to whoever else she vaguely recognises.

When she comes back to the front door, Darcy turns from his conversation with Gigi to grin at her. He reaches his hand out. “Ready?”

Between his question and her reply are a thousand other statements. _To leave, to be together, to take a chance, to make it work._

_To mean something._

“More than ever.”


End file.
